"10 - Seven American Nights by Gene Wolfe" - читать интересную книгу автора (Nebula Awards)

discerned my irascibility, but mistook the reason for it, and.,
began to apologize for the state of the American stage, saying;:
that all the performers of talent emigrated as soon as they
gained recognition, and returned only when they had failed
on the eastern shore of the Atlantic. -5
"No, no," I said. "Kreton and the girl are very fine, and the rest of the cast is at least adequate."
He seemed not to have heard me. "They pick them up
wherever they can-they choose them for their faces. When
they have appeared in three plays, they call themselves
actors. At the Smitbsonian-I am employed there, perhaps B
I've already mentioned it we have tapes of real theater:
Laurence Olivier, Orson Welles, Katharine Cornell. Spelding
is a barber, or at least he was. He used to put his chair under :j
the old Kennedy statue and shave the passersby. Ellen is a
trollop, and Powers a drayman. That lame fellow Kreton
used to snare sailors for a singing house on Portland Street." e
His disparagement of his own national culture embarrassed me, though it put me in a better mood. (I have noticed that the two often go together-perhaps I am secretly humiliated to find that people of no great importance can affect my interior state with a few words or some mean service.) I took
my leave of him and went to the confectioner's stand in the lobby. The Americans have a very pretty custom of duplicating the speckled eggs of wild birds in marzipan, and I bought a box of these-not only because I wanted to try them myself, but because I felt certain they would prove a treat for the old man, who must seldom have enough money to afford luxuries of that kind. I was quite correct-he ate them eagerly. But when I sampled one, I found its odor (as though I were eating artificial violets) so unpleasant that I did not take another.
"We were speaking of writing," the old man said. "The closed curve and the open curve. I did not have time to make the point that both could be achieved mechanically; but the monograph I am now developing turns upon that very question, and it happens that I have examples with me. First the closed curve. In the days when our president was among the world's ten most powerful men-the reality of the Paul Laurent you see on the stage there each president received hundreds of requests every day for his signature. To have granted them would have taken hours of his time. To have refused them would have raised a brigade of enemies."
"What did they do?"
"They called upon the resources of science. That science devised the machine that wrote this."
From within his clean, worn coat he drew a folded sheet of paper. I opened it and saw that it was covered with the text of what appeared to be a public address, written in a childish scrawl. Mentally attempting to review the list of the American presidents I had seen in some digest of world history long ago, I asked whose hand it was.
"The machine's. Whose hand is being imitated here is one of the things I am attempting to discover."
In the dim light of the theater it was almost impossible to make out the faded script, but I caught the word Sardinia. "Surely, by correlating the contents to historical events it should be possible to date it quite accurately."
The old man shook his head. "The text itself was composed by another machine to achieve some national psychological effect. It is not probable that it bears any real relationship to the issues 'of its day. But now look here." He drew out a second sheet, and unfolded it for me. So far as I could see, it was completely blank. I was still staring at it
when the curtain went up.,

As Kreton moved his toy aircraft across the stage, the old man took a final egg and turned away to watch the play There was still half a carton left, and 1, thinking that he might want more later, and afraid that they might be spilled from my lap and lost underfoot, closed the box and slipped it into the side pocket of my jacket.
The special effects for the landing of the second spaceship were well done; but there was something else in the third act that gave me as much pleasure as the cat scene in the second. The final curtain hinges on the device our poets call the Peri's asphodel, a trick so shopworn now that it is acceptable only if it can be presented in some new light. The one used here was to have Jqhn--Ellen's lover-find Kreton's handkerchief and, remarking that it seemed perfumed, bury his nose in it. For an instant, the shadow wall used at the beginning of the second act was illuminated again to graphically (or I should say, pornographically) present Ellen's desire, conveying to the audience that John had, for that moment, shared the telepathic abilities of Kreton, whom all' of them had now entirely forgotten.
The device was extremely effective, and left me feeling that I had by no means wasted my evening. I joined the general applause as the cast appeared to take their bows; then, as I was turning to leave. I noticed that the old maq appeared very ill. I asked if he were all right, and he confessed ruefully that he had eaten too much, and thanked me again for my kindness-which must at that time have taken a great deal of resolution.
I helped him out of the theater, and when I saw that he had no transportation but his feet, told him I would take him home. He thanked me again, and informed me that he had a room at the museum.
Thus the half-block walk from the theater to my hotel was transformed into a journey of three or four kilometers, taken by moonlight, much of it through rubble-strewn avenues of the deserted parts of the city.
During the day I had hardly glanced at the stark skeleton of the old highway. Tonight, when we walked beneath its ruined overpasses, they seemed inexpressibly ancient and sinister. It occurred to me then that there may be a timeflaw, such as astronomers report from space, somewhere in the Atlantic. How is .it that this western shore is more antiquated in the remains of a civilization not yet a century
dead than we are in the shadow of Darius? May it not be that every ship that plows that sea moves through ten thousand years?

For the past hour-I find I cannot sleep-I have been debating whether to make this entry. But what good is a travel journal, if one does not enter everything? I will revise it on the trip home, and present a cleansed copy for my mother and Yasmin to read.
It appears that the scholars at the museum have no income but that derived from the sale of treasures gleaned from the past; and I bought a vial of what is supposed to be the greatest creation of the old hallucinatory chemists from the woman who helped me get the old man into bed. It is-it was-about half the height of my smallest finger. Very probably it was alcohol and nothing more, though I paid a substantial price.
I was sorry I had bought it before I left, and still more sorry when I arrived here; but at the time it seemed that this would be my only opportunity, and I could think of. nothing but to seize the adventure. After I have swallowed the drug I will be able to speak with authority about these things for the remainder of my life.
Here is what I have done. I have soaked the porous sugar of one of the eggs with the fluid. The moisture will soon dry up. The drug-if there is a drug-will remain. Then I will rattle the eggs together in an empty drawer, and each day, beginning tomorrow night, I will eat one egg.

I am writing today before I go down to breakfast, partly because I suspect that the hotel does not serve so early. Today I intend to visit the park on the other side of the channel. If it is as dangerous as they say, it is very likely I will not return to make an entry tonight. If I do return-well, I will plan for that when I am here again.
After I had blown out my candle last night I could not sleep, though I was tired to the bone. Perhaps it was only the excitement of the long walk back from the museum; but I could not free my mind from the image of Ellen. My wandering thoughts associated her with the eggs, and I imagined myself Kreton, sitting up in bed with the cat on my lap. In my daydream (I was not asleep) Ellen brought me my break-

fast on -a tray, and the breakfast consisted of the six candy eggs.
When my mind had exhausted itself with this kind of imagery, I decided to have the manager procure a girl for me so that I could rid myself of the accumulated tensions of the voyage. After about an hour during which I sat up reading, he arrived with three; and when he had given me a glimpse of them through the half-open door, he slipped inside and shut it behind him, leaving them standing in the corridor. I told him I had only asked for one.
"I know, Mr. Jaffarzadeh, I know. But I thought you might like to have a choice."
None of them-from the glimpse I had had-resembled Ellen; but I thanked him for his thoughtfulness and suggested that he bring them in.
"I wanted to tell you first, sir, that you must allow me to set the price with them-I can get them for much less than you, sir, because they know they cannot deceive me, and they must depend on me to bring them to my guests in the future." He named a sum that was in fact quite trivial.
"That will be fine," I said. "Bring them in."
He bowed and smiled, making his pinched and miserly face as pleasant as possible and reminding me very much of a picture I had once seen of an imp summoned before the court of Suleiman. "But first, sir, I wished to inform you that if you would like all three-together-you may have them for the price of two. And should you desire only two of the three, you may have them for one and one half the price of one. All are very lovely, and I thought you might want to consider it."